The vows began before I was ready, and that was the first thing that registered, not the music swelling, not the guests rising, not even the way the aisle seemed to stretch longer than it had any right to. The day started moving without waiting for my consent, as if the schedule itself had decided my awareness was optional, and my body complied because it had been trained to survive by cooperating with appearances.
My feet moved when they were told to move, and I hated how automatic it was. The stone beneath my heels felt unreal, too smooth and too pale, like something staged rather than solid. The floral arches curved overhead in soft whites and greens, petals arranged with obsessive care, fabric draped to suggest effortlessness, and the lawn beyond was impossibly green, manicured into o
